Bits of Lives, Drops of Potions
by munkinette
Summary: The Dark One finds a lost kitten and so much more.
1. Chapter 1

_Here's my Rumbelle Secret Santa gift (made with human & feline love alike) to my delovely Blessedlunatic!_

 _Prompt: "Dark Castle - potion goes wrong"_

* * *

That nightfall from a long, long time ago brought with it a biting cold the likes of which the realm had not seen in many winters' time. So cold and grim was the earth that The Dark One himself noticed it, felt the chill seep into his bones and snuff out any lingering trace of warmth it could find. Rumplestiltskin wrapped his coat tighter around himself and hastened his pace. His leather jerkin was of excellent use for prancing, less so when one had to make his way - and a long way it had been - through an unyielding forest.

You see, against all common knowledge, for many books have been written and endless words whispered about, it appeared that even the immortal ones could feel the cold. Even more so when the enduring soul was Rumplestiltskin's, and on a night such as this, so alike another from hundreds of years ago. The night when he had entered the very same forest a father, and emerged a desperate soul on a quest.

In every hollow pit in the ground that gapes at him and threatens to swallow him whole, Rumplestiltskin thinks he recognizes ancient traces his nails had left there, in the very same spot where the portal that took his son away from him closed. Every meadow he passes might be the one where he had spat and cursed at the Blue Fairy, for conniving that sinister plan to strip him of his powers and the only family he had left. And, despite so many bleak years since, the feel of the rough bark of this tree or that is still overly familiar to him, vivid from that night when he had rested his cheek upon it and wept.

Rumplestiltskin never knows why he, without fault, chooses the forest path to get back to the Dark Castle, making no use of the magic, crackling at his fingertips and demanding to be set free, which could easily transport him back home. He thinks that maybe a part of him, the small scrap that is still human and refuses to surrender to the darkness, craves the memory of that fateful night, as it does the memory of another dire day that has come a long time after.

Yes, he welcomes the pain these recollections bring, if only to make himself suffer and pay for what he's done. And he needs the shame and regret alive and breathing fire beneath his skin, because it is the only way he knows how to feel warm again. True that it is a particular kind of warmth, one born out of anger and despair, but he welcomes it nonetheless. Because as the sorrow of loosing his son washes through him anew, so does the desperate need to get Baelfire back, no matter the cost. And then, rarely and for a brief moment in time, all the things he had to do to get back to his son seem to make a little bit of sense.

It would make sense sending her away, wouldn't it? Belle. He had her love, and yet he chose to cut her out. But he had to, didn't he? For his Bae. For Belle herself. He needed to hold on to his power, and she needed to be protected, far away from it.

"She died."

"Papa!"

"You trust me to come back?"

"You coward, you promised."

"Don't break our deal."

"Why won't you believe me?"

"I expect I'll never see you again."

In the three hundred years he has been living on this accursed earth as the Dark One, Rumplestiltskin had committed innumerable despicable acts. Some had been more shocking and gruesome that others, a few he had drawn twisted pleasure from, many he had despised himself for. But, deep inside himself where his shrivelled little heart still beats its chaotic rhythm, he knows that the biggest mistake he has done had been sending away the only two people he had ever truly loved.

It is not often for one to witness the Dark One collapse onto his knees under the burden of his memories, and sob amongst trees and under stars. It is rare for Rumplestiltskin to do so, and even rarer still for him to feel, as he scrunches on the ground and claws his nails into the dirt in his misery, something warm pressing itself insistently against his back.

He's rendered motionless for a moment, stunned by the novelty of sensation, before he gathers his wits and spins on his heels - as fast as he can as to surprise his attacker -, only to come face to face with two very wide, very blue eyes.

The thing pushing itself against him is... a cat. A very small one, white with little streaks of black that look more like blue in the moonlight. There are spots of chestnut fur on all her paws and the tip of her tail, and it would look comical weren't for the utter impossibly of stumbling upon a domesticated cat in middle of the forest, in the dead of night. The creature is shivering and looks a little worse for wear, and yet all it does is stare right into Rumplestiltskin's eyes, undeterred and with a curiosity that belie the fact that it has just met a rather unpleasant beast. Not that the little thing is pleasant by any means, no. It is entirely too strange, and looking far too fierce to make Rumplestiltskin feel comfortable in its presence.

It is in that particular moment that Rumplestiltskin's discomfort increases tenfold, for the tiny thing decides to launch itself at him. He has no time to cross his arms protectively against his chest for he instantly finds himself with a lap full of cat, the furry creature nestled tightly against his belly and, thankfully, in no apparent rush to claw his heart out.

"Cat..." Rumplestiltskin says warily, just because he doesn't know what else to do. As expected, the sound of crickets and an almost inaudible purr he might as well have imagined are the only things he hears in response. He waits, unsure of how to proceed on his own, and stunned that he is actually waiting for a cat to make the next move.

He can feel the softness of the thing, its solid warmth through his shirt and scales, and it is not an unpleasant feeling. It's warmth, and even if it isn't inside his chest or burning in his veins where it should be, it's still there and his for the taking.

"Wee kitten, shoo now..." he adds, although there's little conviction in his voice by now, and the desire to prowl the little thing off him dims by the second.

No more inclined to dislodge the ball of fur from its nest against his chest, lest he finds himself with new scales made by her claws - or at least that's what he tells himself -, Rumplestiltskin decides to welcome this little distraction from his thoughts and cradles the thing in his arms, tucking it inside his coat to offer it some shelter from the cold. Cat secured, he gets up to his feet and resumes his way back to the Dark Castle.

It's a strange feeling, he muses as his feet crush dead leaves in his wake, after so many years, to no longer emerge from this forest alone.


	2. Chapter 2

He has a cat.

As nonsensical as the notion is, there is no way around it, no other option but to admit it. The Dark One has acquired a pet. And no, not an ordinary pet, not a snake, crocodile or dragon, something applicable and reasonable, but a tiny ball of fur with azure eyes, warm paws and the softest meow.

He hasn't given it a name yet, but she is definitely a little lady. He'd called her Freida once, and it had been the first and only time she had hissed at him. So he has taken to merely calling her "cat", and he chuckles when, instead of taking to her no-name, she bristles to it. He reasons she had been called cat before, and it didn't end well for her.

At least no one has come to visit him in a while to see him like this, Rumplestiltskin sighs as he scratches the little rascal behind her ears while she eats her dinner. Dinner that he had conjured up for her. Dinner made of a more exquisite assortment of fish than the one he conjures for himself. Yes, he hopes no one comes to see what he's become. And he hopes no one comes to disturb their peace either. He feels quite content like this, just him and this… thing. His cat.

And so Rumplestiltskin continues to work on his potions that, one by one completed, bring him closer to his son, and he is surprised to find that he works better with the little thing breathing steadily in her basket at his feet. She makes him calmer somehow, more clear-headed, and he thinks better when she's in his turret with him. Sometimes, if he stays motionless for too long, she wraps herself around his ankles and falls asleep on his toes. Other times, when he leaves her alone to pay a visit to the library, to recover a lost tome or check a reference from a book, he comes back to find her lounging in his chair. He never has the heart to tell her to get down from there. But then again, he isn't supposed to have a heart, so his indulgence of her doesn't bother him much. It couldn't mean anything, anything at all.

She's by his side again when he spins, nestled against the spinning wheel and sometimes against his thigh, and there's definitely cat hair on all his clothes now, possibly in his gold, too. He's not upset, because who would notice, and the gold's magic works perfectly fine still. It only glows brighter, if anything. Sometimes, when he doesn't say a word for far too long, or when the rhythm of his wheel becomes frantic under the burden of all the things he wishes forgotten, she comes closer to nuzzle his hand, and she rubs her head against his palm if he returns the gesture.

"I haven't forgotten about you, little thing," he says then, and she purrs.

There's cat fur on his covers, too, when he gets to bed at night. It is because the lock on his door is broken, and he studiously forgets fixing it. It's his greatest kept secret, that he likes coming to bed to find an indent on the pillow next to his, or her lingering warmth on his side of the bed. Or, in the rarest of times, the wee thing itself sleeping peacefully in the centre of his bed. Most often than not, he finds her sitting near the book he had left opened on the bed the night before, her little pink nose attentively tracing the words. It makes him smile, to pretend that she is trying to read, and it is on those moments that he thinks he might have actually grown to care for her.

"Away, cat!" He tries to snarl at her, but there's so little conviction behind his words and tone now that she just lifts her eyes to study him, flapping an ear before she elegantly dislodges herself from the bed and curls in front of the fireplace. If, by some sort of peculiar coincidence, a blanket or Rumplestiltskin's own cloak suddenly appear there for her to nestle inside, he has absolutely no explanation for it.

"Have you known that you are the first beastie to ever cross the threshold of the Dark Castle and not get cooked, skinned or turned into a potion... yet," Rumplestiltskin giggles once he settles into his bed, blanket up to his chin. The cat startles out of her nap and turns her head to look at him. He gives her his best sinister grin and he swears she rolls her eyes at him before going back to sleep.

He finds it curious that his cat has chosen to never attack his spinnings, neither when he is at the wheel nor when he is not. She seems to be on her best behaviour all the time, never accidentally knocking over one of his vials, spilling his potions or causing him to trip with his arms full of magical ingredients. It is most strange for a feline not to engage in such shenanigans.

It is why Rumplestiltskin is most shocked when, one day as he comes back from a deal, he enters the great hall to find her sitting on the pedestal that displays his most treasured possession, a chipped porcelain teacup. He stares at her in disbelief, petrified that she would reach for the cup, have it tumble down and shatter into a million pieces on the marble floor, yet all the cat does is merely look between him and the cup.

He transports himself by her side in an instant, scoops her up in his arms, and then somehow he has unknowingly sent both of them to the dungeons, and he is shouting at the poor creature to never touch or even look at that cup ever again. And he knows that he is being irrational for threatening an animal, and he also knows that he must be scaring the living hell out of her, but he is shaking and panicking and yelling that the only thing he has left from the woman he loves must be preserved and unharmed.

He magics himself to his tower right after that, trying to draw full breaths to calm himself, feeling completely depleted of all energy, and it isn't until much later that evening, when the wee thing butts her head against the door to his workroom and lets herself in, that he realizes he has left her alone in the dungeons for all this time. Dungeons that are located in the other, far away wing of the castle. How she has even made her way to his turret is beyond him, but there is no doubt of one thing: his little cat is resourceful.

He watches, stunned, as she hops onto his worktable and pokes her nose against the tray containing his breakfast, magicked there that very morning but left untouched. He supposes she is hungry, and thirsty, too, after a day spent running around the corridors of his castle, but when he pours some milk on a plate for her, she simply ignores it and continues to stare at him. It doesn't make any sense. Unless...

"You don't want to eat," Rumplestiltskin realizes, baffled, "You want me to eat."

A tiny meow.

Well, this is... unexpected.

"How about we both eat, what do you say?" Rumplestiltskin asks as he recognizes the traces of a small, alarming smile forming on his lips, for this is the closest to a dinner invitation he has made in his entire life. He pours some more milk for her, and if the milk is now warmer than it was before, he has no intention of acknowledging it. The cat gingerly laps at it, and he bites onto a bit of pastry, wincing when the hardened bread collides with his rotten teeth.

"I'm sorry... About earlier. I shouldn't have scared you like that. You're a cat, you are inquisitive by nature. And I am an old fool who should know better where to keep what is delicate and precious to him."

The cat turns her whiskers at him, two small drops of milk glittering on them. She fixes him with a stare, then hops from the table to give a quick rub along his ankles before leaving the room.

Rumplestiltskin sighs. The Dark One has just apologized. To a cat. And meant it. 


	3. Chapter 3

It has been a trying day to say the least, and Rumplestiltskin feels more tired now than he has ever felt, as he climbs the many steps leading up to his bedroom, knowing that another night of troubled sleep is to follow. The infusion of memories of Belle and the pain they unfailingly bring have been enough to have him crave the company of the other living soul in the castle. Once that soul had been Belle's, and the thought is enough to brings tears to his eyes. Now there is only this small strange cat to keep him company. He will never have the opportunity to beg for Belle's forgiveness, for a cruel twist of fate had taken that away from him along with Belle herself, but at least he hopes that he has secured the forgiveness of the little ball of fur tonight. Why that has been so important to him at the time, he will never know. He supposes that the unexpected loneliness he felt so acutely while being separated from her would make one do the most foolish of things.

And so Rumplestiltskin goes through the motions of getting ready for bed mechanically, one boot discarded near the foot of the bed, shirt now lying abandoned somewhere on the floor. Too tired to bother with a bath or proper nightclothes, he collapses onto the fresh silks and stares blankly at the canopy, wishing for the voices in his head to at least give him the respite of a few hours.

As much as he should have been expecting it, it still comes as a surprise to feel his leg collide with a soft little bump that can only be the ridiculous cat hiding below his comforter.

"You probably think I still feel guilty enough that I will let you sleep in the bed tonight... Preposterous little thing," he sighs dejectedly. The cat seems to sense the exact moment when his resolve to send her away breaks, because she emerges from beneath the bedclothes and burrows into his side. Her soft fur is tickling Rumplestiltskin's naked skin, and he startles, but he doesn't pull away, instead choosing to pull the comforter up over the both of them.

"I hope you don't have fleas, or this is going to be a very short and unpleasant happenstance," he grumbles.

Neither Dark One nor cat move for a good long while, and the barely audible creaks of the castle combined with the rhythmic purrs of his cat should be enough to lure Rumplestiltskin into sleep. Instead he finds the words are leaving his mouth before he has the time to stop them.

"Her name was Belle. She was my maid, although she was never truly that. At first she had been a pretty bauble to add to my collection, another soul to taunt, another spirit to see if I could break. But she broke something of mine instead. She broke my walls, my blindness to other people's sorrow, my inability to care for anyone. She was the lightest being to ever live inside this dark and doomed prison of a castle. And I took that lightness from her. I got scared, I raged and I lied, and she left thinking that I didn't care for her, and she died. I lost her, as I did Bae, and I can never get her back."

The cat makes a tiny sound against his shoulder, and Rumplestiltskin's arm automatically wraps around her to bring her closer to his body.

"She was like you in many ways, little kitten. She was always by my side. You cannot cook, and she made the most appalling of breakfasts. You find dust balls entertaining, and she didn't know how to dust for the life of her. She was a monster who devoured my books. And, just like you, she had been soft and warm that one time when I had her in my arms. I never should have let her go. I should have told her the truth about my son when she had asked for it, should have told her why holding on to my curse was so important. I… I should have told her that I loved her."

"That tiny cup I was so afraid you were going to break? It was Belle's, little cat," Rumplestiltskin trails off, looking down at the little ball of fur nestled against his side.

She catches his eyes with her unnatural blue ones, right before moving forward to nuzzle against his neck, and suddenly Rumplestltskin's heart feels like it's beating a mile a minute inside his chest. It is there and then when he realizes, with no small amount of shock, that what he feels right now is something he hasn't felt in a very, very long time: affection. Maybe it was talking about Belle that has inspired such candid feelings in him, maybe it is the tiny paw that his cat gingerly places on his chest, right above his heart, but, before he can second guess whatever the hell he is doing, he places a soft kiss atop the little furry's head.

After that it's all a flurry of bright light and magic strange even to himself, of incomprehensible emotions welling up inside of him and leaving him breathless, and Rumplestiltskin has absolutely no idea how to react other than to lay motionlessly in his bed and watch his cat's eyes grow wider and wider as tears pool into them, tears that then fall onto the rosy cheeks of no other than his dear, long-lost Belle.

"I... Belle?! What is happening?" he manages to rasp.

"It worked!" The darling and very human voice of Belle says brightly as she hugs him tightly and knocks the air right out of him. "You kissed me and it worked, Rumple!" She adds, sniffling. After a few moments, she disentangles herself from his chest and looks fondly at him, wiping at her eyes. She stretches her arms above her head and wiggles her toes under the blankets.

"Gods, it feels so good to be human again!"

"You are naked." Rumplestiltskin observes stupidly.

"So are you," Belle retorts, trying to peek below the covers and arching an eyebrow.

"I am not!" Rumplestiltsin sputters, battling her hands away. "I have... breeches... on," he finishes lamely.

"Oh... That's too bad."

"What?!"

"I'm just jesting, Rumple," Belle shakes her head, smiling at him. "I can do that now. Oh, all these months, all the times I wanted to use a witty retort on you and I couldn't! And... all the times I've tried to let you know who I was... I could only bloody meow!" She pounds her tiny fists into the mattress. "But now I have my voice again, and I can tell you everything I've been meaning to." Belle stops at that, uncertain. "I mean... if you want to listen. Will you hear me, Rumple?"

"Oh, Belle," Rumplestiltskin breathes in awe, and it is his turn to feel his eyes sting. "You're back. You're alive. Stay with me and tell me anything. Everything! But first..." he stops, brows furrowing, "How did you manage to end up a cat?"

"Regina. She locked me up. Thankfully, there was this little green fairy, Tinkerbell was her name. She found me locked away in Regina's tower. I think she was watching over Regina, trying to help her find some goodness in her heart. Anyway, Tink promised to give me a pouch filled with fairy dust, which would transport me to any place in the realm I wanted to go. But I think she mixed up her pouches because she gave me one with a potion instead. I... I probably should have planned things better, but I was so desperate to escape from that horrible place that I... drank it. And it turned me into a cat. I suppose there could have been bleaker outcomes than that. I managed to sneak out of Regina's prison. Finding the forest near the Dark Castle had been a bit more difficult, but I did it. Because I wanted to come back to you. Always have."

"You… You have?" There are fresh tears in Rumplestiltskin's eyes, and his trembling hand comes to cover Belle's where it now rests atop his arm.

"I was coming back to you when Regina had found me," Belle confesses shyly. "So, to finish my story, I knew you often took the forest path, it was just a matter of staying alive in the forest long enough to run into you. And I did," she grinned at him.

"Gods, Belle. I don't understand how, but I am so grateful that you did."

"You're telling me the question of why a domesticated cat would stroll through the middle of the forest has never crossed your mind? Villages are quite far from the place where I found you..."

"I was... stupid." Rumplestiltskin replies lamely. He lifts her hand and gently lays a kiss to her palm.

"Aren't you always?" Belle smiles fondly, caressing his cheek, and Rumplestiltskin chuckles.

"You used to do that with your paw."

"I'm so glad I can do this properly now. I've urged to touch you ever since the night I saw you again."

"You can touch me all you want, my Belle. I am yours. Just don't..."

"No kiss on the lips yet. Yeah, I got that part," she nods. "But I can kiss you here," Belle places a soft kiss to the skin over his heart, "and I can kiss you here, too", she drops a feather-like kiss to his cheek, "and you can kiss me anywhere you like," she giggles, and Rumplestiltskin groans.

If the thought of having lost Belle forever hasn't killed him, a living, teasing Belle by his side certainly will.


	4. Chapter 4

"I love you," Belle whispers as she brushes her lips against her husband's.

"And I love you, my Belle."

It's the middle of winter in the quiet little town of Storybrooke, Maine, and Mr. and Mrs. Gold have just finished recounting the story of how they had been reunited with each other, the very same story that had begun years ago, deep within a forest, on an equally cold winter's night.

Mr. and Mrs. Gold's ten kittens have made for an excellent audience. Nobody in Storybrooke thinks it strange anymore that all the cats in the Gold residence are white with little spots of black and chestnut fur. The Golds have promised to find good homes for them. Later, in twenty-eight years' time, when the saviour will come to town. But for now, and for many years to come, they will simply take pleasure in the kittens leisurely playing in front of the fireplace.

"Did they have to be so many though, Rumple?" Belle gently chides her husband. "Whatever are we going to do with them?"

Rumplestiltskin looks sheepishly at his wife. "I just couldn't resist conjuring these mini-Belles."

Belle snorts. "Fine, then they're in your charge. You'll have to feed them, clean after them and keep them out of harm's way, even entertain them."

Rumplestiltskin smiles and places a tender kiss on the top of Belle's head. "I can do that, love."

With the fire crackling merrily in front of them, his little wife nestled happily against his side and their toes playing a game of hide and seek beneath the blankets, Rumplestiltskin thinks he has never been more content than he is in this very moment.

The twenty-eight years will pass, and they will find his boy, and he will earn his forgiveness. Bae might have a family of his own by now, a child who might want to keep one of the kittens for himself. And Rumplestiltskin feels confident that he can persuade Belle to keep the other nine kittens. She had been a cat herself after all, once upon a time.


End file.
